A new town crushing the old.
Dawley? Madeley? Both gone.
The people? New.
Brought fresh in.
Fresh in from London.
Fresh in, complete with new blood, still to be spilled over.
Spilt blood in Shropshire’s fertile fields. Fresh growth.
Instead, yellow bricks and concrete slabs, stained blood-red pink with new blood.
New blood calling, taunting, playing with the old.
Old blood, buried – starved!
New life killing, again, the already dead.
New life unanchored and unfettered by the old spills over and leaves …
The old towns cry.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, The Silly-Savvy Salopian, 7th January 2020